Three Reasons
by BregoArodShadowfax
Summary: An elaboration of Mark and Roger's conversation in "Christmas Bells." Roger's making excuses as to why he and Mimi could never be together, and Mark gets tired of it. Mild Mark/Roger


**Hello, everyone! I****'****m certainly not new to fanfiction dot net, but this is my first RENT fic. I****'****ve seen both the movie and the play and have fallen in love with the story and characters, so I think it****'****s only a natural progression that I would soon start reading/writing fanfiction. I actually just saw the musical on-stage recently and was inspired to write this little fic (and maybe the fact that I actually got to see Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp helped) because I was really impressed by the cast and the show. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys, and don****'****t hesitate to leave a review!!**

**This was partly inspired by Mark and Roger****'****s conversation in ****'Christmas Bells****,****'**** but is not a song-fic. I just use some of the ideas and elaborate on them. There is also some very mild take-it-as-you-see-it Mark/Roger, so just a warning about that as well. **

**Disclaimer: RENT is certainly not mine, and I make no profit out of writing fics about it.**

**Three Reasons**

"Close on Roger, out of the loft for the first time in almost a year. He tells me he's met a girl, but he's apparently not going to do anything about it…"

The camera films a brooding young man, looking vaguely amused at the beginning of the speech and ending with a rather elegant flipping-off of the camera as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his worn leather coat and turns away.

"Rog, she asked you to 'light her candle.' I know you blush like crazy whenever a girl is vaguely flirtatious with you, but even _you _have to know what she meant by it," the cameraman raised an eyebrow suggestively and the other rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know what she meant by it, Mark," he finally admitted. "I know all too well."

There was something far too cryptic about the words, and Mark lowered the camera. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

Ah, he was being evasive again. "Come on, Roger, she got you out of the loft," he pressed.

"That doesn't…"

"You said she was sweet, didn't you?"

"That's not…"

"So then why? What's holding you back?"

"Why do you care?" Roger finally turned to look at him, his eyes flashing in the harsh street-lit lot. "Why, after a year, do you care about my love life?"

"Because I want to see you happy, Roger. You're my friend," Mark sighed, hoping that it wouldn't come to this. Roger had a volatile temper at the best of times, but he'd hoped that getting him out into the relatively fresh city air on Christmas Eve would help.

It hadn't. If anything, Roger was moodier.

"Just forget it, Mark."

"Three reasons," Mark tucked his camera under one arm and pulled his ever-present navy-and-white scarf tighter around his neck. "Three reasons why you won't let her into your life."

"Too easy."

"So let's hear them," Mark half-smiled, and Roger growled before replying.

"Alright, since you're being stubborn. One, like you said, I haven't been outside for almost a year. Is it really the best idea to jump headlong into a relationship when I know nothing about this girl?"

"She's a dancer," Mark pointed out.

"Oh, so she sheds her clothes for old, rich, fat men. Yeah, that's a real plus."

"At least she has a job," Mark snapped, somewhat defensively, although he'd only seen this girl, this 'Mimi', in passing.

"Yeah, like you?" Roger shot back before shaking his head. "Anyway, do you remember what my _last _relationship left me with, Mark? It killed me. It _is _killing me," his voice got soft, and Mark almost regretted bringing it up. Almost. April had been a wonderful, smart, funny girl who'd made a rash and selfish decision, and Mark can still see the blood if he thinks hard enough, the memory playing like a film in his mind; the note attached so carelessly to the mirror: we've got AIDS. Mark found it hard to think of anything revolving around April's death as a blessing, because Roger was right, he _was _dying. Slowly, and the HIV hadn't progressed yet, but if there was one thing, _one good thing _that came out of April's death, it was that it prompted Roger to get clean.

"Roger, I don't think a relationship would be a bad thing for you," Mark said softly, and the guitarist looked at him sideways. "Anyway, second reason."

"Second reason? Mark, that _is _the second…you know what, why am I even talking to you about this? Let's just get some food. After all, eating too much is about the only rebellious thing I can do these days," he sounded resigned, and still angry, but Mark decided to press the issue.

"You're not getting out of this, Roger," he said sternly. "Second reason."

"Mark, I have HIV," he sighed. "I can't be with anyone, because I can't risk passing the disease on. I mean, what if I gave it to April in the first place? We shared needles all the time, I could have…"

"And she could have given it to you, Roger," Mark pointed out gently, not wanting to bring up more bad memories. "But that's not important. I can understand your concern, but that doesn't mean…"

"Yes, it does, Mark. She won't stay with me if I won't put out," Roger sounded bitter as he fumbled for a cigarette and lit up. "Are we done with this conversation?"

"Third reason?" Mark asked hopefully, bringing his camera up again because Roger, despite his jerky attitude, looked good right now. He wasn't emaciated the way he became during withdrawal, wasn't shaking although the night wasn't warm, and Mark remembered all too well the nights spent up holding his shivering friend as he hunched over the toilet, remembered the day when Collins finally told him that he'd done all he could and that Roger needed more than Mark, more than even _Mark_ could give him.

Mark never quite forgave himself for that rehab center; never quite was able to accept the fact that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't bring Roger back by himself. But he knew Collins was right, too, and in the end Roger came out and he was no longer addicted.

That had still been about seven months ago, and since then the ex-front man hadn't left the apartment; had barely picked up his beloved guitar.

But now, Mark had to film him.

Here, under the streetlights, with the snow just starting to fall and white flakes sticking in his sandy brown hair, a trail of smoke mingling with his visible breath in the cold air, he looked like a rock star again. He looked _alive, _and Mark knew that part of it had to do with this Mimi.

"Third reason?" Roger dropped his cigarette butt and stamped out the embers. "Third reason's the easiest, Mark. She's an addict."

And Mark flinched, knowing that this of all things would turn Roger off. After what he'd gone through, it was only understandable, and although he swore up and down that he'd never, ever use heroin again, being around it wouldn't be easy.

But Mark would have had to have been blind not to see the somewhat wistful look in the guitarist's eyes; the upward tilt of his head; the almost-smile on his lips. This girl had touched something within his roommate, and he wasn't about to let Roger give her up.

Finally, Roger looked at him. "There. That enough?"

"Well, they're all good reasons, but don't you think you're killing this thing before you've even given it a chance?" Mark stopped filming again and reached to adjust his glasses. "Come on, Roger, what have you got to lose? It'd be good for you to have a girlfriend…"

"Says the single man whose last girlfriend left him to go be a lesbian," Roger muttered. "Where is she, anyway? Isn't the protest starting soon?"

"Rog, don't change the subject," Mark put a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Look, I'm your friend. I want to see you happy, and I think you'll be happy with Mimi. You have to take risks sometimes, and it can only end in something good."

"How can you know that?"

"Because she got you here. I'm your best friend and I couldn't get you to come. She did. And even though I haven't met her, I know that she's what you need," Mark tried to put as much meaning into the words as he could.

"Mark, I know you mean well, but I just can't…"

And Mark, who by now had had nearly enough of Roger's excuses, decided to shut him up in a different way, because Roger was getting that look again: that look that said he was about to run; to run away from his problems, which he did altogether too much of.

There was this deep sadness in his eyes that didn't belong on the face of such a vibrant and passionate young man, and if it took a fiery young club dancer to bring the passion back, Mark wished her all the luck in the world.

But none of it would do any good if Roger wouldn't even _talk _to the girl. "Rog…" he said softly, stepping closer and giving the larger man every opportunity to move away.

That he didn't was probably a testament to their strong friendship, and while they'd never kissed before, somehow it felt…right. There was nothing romantic about it; Mark had no illusions that he could be 'the one' for Roger, and it could almost be called brotherly for its chasteness.

Roger closed his eyes and let his arms come around Mark's waist, pulling him close, and in the back of his mind Mark thought that in a way this defined their relationship: kissing in the gently falling Christmas Eve snow in an empty lot with the calls of junkies chasing their dealer, the heavy tromp of police boots, and the calls of vendors hawking their goods in the background. What they had; what they'd built was so imperfect, and yet he could never imagine having another friend who would be as close to him as Roger was able to get.

He felt the guitarist stiffen and immediately pulled back, worried that he'd overstepped some line, but when Roger didn't remove his arms, Mark opened his mouth to ask what the matter was when Roger spoke. "That's her."

"Maureen?" Mark said instinctively, part of his mind still on the fact that the last person he'd even _kissed _had been his ex-girlfriend.

"No. Mimi."

And Mark turned, his eyes immediately finding her in the crowd around the one they named 'the Man,' one of the many smack dealers in the neighbourhood. He immediately saw why Roger was hung up on her, although physically she really looked nothing like April.

But their was this life, this vibrancy around her petite, toned body; her curly brown hair bounced behind her as she ran, a smile on her face even as she went to buy the drug that would only hurt her. "Oh."

And that probably wasn't the best response, but really, what else was there to say? Roger gave him a quick hug before muttering, almost reluctantly, "I should go."

Mark watched him drag the girl away from the dealer with a smile, and as Roger brought this young muse back over, he prepared to meet the girl who would, in one way or another, change his friend's life.

**This was really just a random plot bunny that hit tonight, but I hope somebody at least enjoyed it :)**


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